Swear To Me
by Wolfy1515
Summary: During his infiltration of the B.P.R.D.'s headquarters, Prince Nuada gains a new servant while passing through the Bureau's prison. (Terrible summery, I know.)
1. Chapter 1

**This idea came to me out of nowhere, so I decided to write it down.  
**

**Prince Nuada, unfortunately, does not belong to me. Anabelle Slade, however, is mine.**

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**Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense – Trenton, New Jersey – September 27th, 2008 – 06:31 hrs.**

Prince Nuada wasn't exactly surprised to find that the headquarters of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense was located primarily underground. The humans feared anything that was strange and different – he'd forced the demon to realize this during the forest god's attack. It only made sense that the one branch of the humans' government that dealt with beings that were "strange" and different keep itself hidden away from the public eye; hiding from the very people they claimed to be fighting for. Such one-sided heroism.

The guards and dogs at the front gates had been easy enough for him to deal with, and getting into the building hadn't been too difficult either. Their security guards clearly had never faced his kind before, a fact he took full advantage of. Very little effort had to be exerted on his part in order to cut them down; humans were such fragile creatures, especially in this age when true warriors were rare, almost nonexistent, among human beings.

Nuada continued deeper into the subterranean fortress, bypassing security scanners using the severed limbs of guards and Bureau agents. He soon found himself on one of the lower levels and staring down a hallway lined with what appeared to be prison cells. Each cell was reinforced with metal and had a door that could apparently only be opened by entering a specific numeral code on a keypad. What the prince found interesting was the floor-to-ceiling glass window every cell had, allowing those in the hall a full view of the prisoners inside, and vice versa. And there were many prisoners. Beings of all kinds were held captive in this hall alone; he assumed the Bureau had deemed them incredibly dangerous to have them locked up in maximum security cells like these.

The hallway was empty, and he started down it, slowing his pace to glance into the cells. Every prisoner looked up from whatever they were doing and moved toward the glass as he passed them. They all stared, wide-eyed, and Nuada couldn't help but pity them. There was a part of him – the part that still cared deeply for both his people and all magical beings even after long years of exile – that desired to set them all free. But he was well aware of his current mission, and the chaos that would undoubtedly ensure upon the prisoners' release was a distraction he could not afford. Perhaps he would have the chance to return for them at a more appropriate time.

Nuada's attention was drawn to one of the cells when he heard banging against the thick glass. His amber eyes met the blue ones of a woman. Her long blond hair fell to the middle of her back and kept half of her face shrouded from him until she tucked it behind her ear. She was pale and thin, malnourished; not to the point of emaciation, but enough to show that she was in poor health. Despite her condition, she had a pretty face and looked very… human. Why would a human be labeled dangerous enough to be housed with an assortment of lethal magical beings?

The woman had her hands pressed against the glass and was staring right at him. "You're him, aren't you?" she asked. Her voice was shaky but still possessed a silvery quality to it. "You're Prince Nuada. King Balor's son? The exiled prince of Bethmoora?"

The elf turned to her but didn't move any closer to her cell. "What would a human know of me?"

The corners of her mouth twitched upward. "There have been many whispers among the other prisoners, rumors of your return and the upcoming war you've waged against the humans. I can see that, for once, the rumors were true."

"You're certainly well-informed for a prisoner."

"The guards and agents openly discuss such matters down here. What would we prisoners do with that kind of information anyway, besides share it with each other?"

Nuada silently studied her face, his expression unreadable, and took a step toward the glass. "What are you called?"

The woman seemed mildly surprised. "Wha… What?"

"Your name," he hissed, irritated that he'd had to clarify. "What is your name?"

She took her hands off the glass and managed a smile before bowing rather elegantly. "Anabelle Slade, at your service, your Highness."

He scoffed quietly. "I have no need for human services."

Nuada had only partially turned as if to continue down the hall before Anabelle proceeded to frantically pound her hands against the glass. Her calm demeanor was all but gone, and she stared at him with the desperate, wide-eyed gaze of a trapped animal. "No, no, no, no! Don't leave! I beg of you!" she pleaded. "Don't leave me here! I'm going mad in this cage!"

He looked back at her. This time he noticed the metal cuffs around her wrists, each inscribed with runes that he recognized as having magical properties – the kind used to silence the magical abilities of others. He met her eyes and murmured the word _bandraoi_ under his breath. "You're a witch." It was a statement, not a question.

Anabelle nodded solemnly. "That I am, my lord."

"How did a witch come to be imprisoned here?" Nuada asked, stepping closer to the cell. "I was under the impression your kind was a dying breed."

"I am the last of my bloodline, my liege. Have you ever heard of Lilit Libbu?"

"The Demon Heart that feeds off the souls of others. I know it."

A soft red glow appeared beneath her skin, drawing attention to the scar on her chest, visible due to her low-cut shirt; both the glow and the scar were directly over her heart. "I am its keeper," Anabelle said quietly. "I have been for over a century. Now you understand why the Bureau thought it wise to lock me away?"

Nuada watched her closely. It made sense for her to be caged. Witches were dangerous on their own, but this one has a magical crystal encasing her heart, one that increased her power, increased her longevity, and preserved her youth – so long as it was 'fed' souls. She was dangerous, yes, but perhaps she could be of some use. "What have you to offer in exchange for your freedom?"

She lowered her eyes and released a breath. "Nothing… Nothing but my life and magic… Not that my magic is of much use with these damn restraints."

"Swear yourself to me," the prince stated bluntly.

The witch's gaze fixed on him, and her eyes widened once more. "My… My lord?"

"I have no doubt you know the oath I speak of; even the Demon Heart can be bound to such oaths."

"Yes, I do know the oath you speak of, though it is one I have never sworn."

"Swear it now and I will free you."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Do you have much of a choice, witch?"

She swallowed hard, but nodded and inhaled deeply. "I swear that to Prince Nuada, son of King Balor and heir to the throne of Elfland, I will be true, faithful, and loyal. I will love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, according to the laws of the gods and the order of the earth. Never will I, be it with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him. My life I will gladly lay down for his without hesitation or question. This oath I swear to uphold until either my master releases me… or death claims me."

Nuada kept his eyes on her. _"__Cad__a bhfuil ráite__, __lig sé a bheith__.__"_

Anabelle winced at his words, leaning on the glass for support. A snap could be heard, like a fire sparking to life, and a burn appeared on her upper arm; the scorched flesh formed a perfect impression of the Bethmoora clan symbol, as if a hot brand had been pressed to her arm. The witch muttered a few coarse words as she examined the symbol. "So it's official," she said when she looked back at Nuada. "You're my master now."

"Yes, and I will honor my word." He turned his gaze to the keypad by the door of her cell. "Do you know the code to open it?"

Anabelle looked to see what he was doing and nodded. "94824."

The elf's fingers moved quickly over the keys as he put in the code. The door unlocked with a beep and a click. Anabelle half-walked half-stumbled out of the cell, prompting Nuada to take her hands in order to help her regain her balance. He read the inscriptions on the cuffs out loud, and they unlatched and fell from her wrists in response. Anabelle released his hands and looked down at her freed wrists, rotating them experimentally as her lips curved into a smile. "Thank you, my lord. You have no idea how much this means to me."

The blade of his spear against her cheek made her fall silent as he took hold of her arm, forcing her to look up at him. The fierceness of his gaze had not wavered in the slightest. "You are only free to a certain extent," he said. "This brand marks you as my property. You will serve me until the end of your days." He leaned in to whisper with deadly, hissing emphasis. "And if you betray me, I swear to you, you will so desperately wish you never emerged from your mother's womb."

Nuada drew back the spear in one quick movement, leaving a shallow cut on her right cheek in the process. Anabelle only flinched and released a startled breath. She reached up to touch the wound when he let go of her arm.

"Have I made myself clear, witch?" he asked firmly.

She met his eyes and nodded slowly. "You have, my lord."

A pair of guards suddenly rounded a corner and entered the hallway. They immediately drew their guns when they caught sight of Nuada, telling him to put his weapon down. Nuada skillfully spun his spear in one hand and prepared to strike them down. A blast of cold air rushed past him before he could make a move, however, and he watched as a stream of frost struck the humans, encasing them both in ice. The elf looked back at Anabelle just as frozen white wisps stopped swirling around her hands. She gave him a knowing smile and lowered her arms. "I am a woman of my word, your Highness," she said. "I intend to serve you loyally."

For the first time since entering the building, Nuada cracked a smile.

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**I do not plan on pairing Nuada with Anabelle. They'd have more of a master-servant relationship that eventually turned into a mutual respect for one another. I just can't see Nuada falling for a human woman, witch or otherwise. **

**Anyway, let me know what you think. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I got some positive reviews for this, so I'm going to continue it. :)**

**Nuada is not mine. Anabelle and all other original characters are mine.**

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**Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense – Trenton, New Jersey – May 22, 2004 – 19:06 hrs.**

Professor Trevor Bruttenholm watched through the one-way mirror as Agent Clay sat in one of the two chairs bordering the metal table in the center of the interrogation room. The agent had a manila folder open in his lap, reading silently to himself while he waited patiently for the convict to be brought up from the holding cells. It was taking a bit longer than normal to prepare, but with this particular inmate Professor Bruttenholm made sure every precaution was taken. Any mistakes could result in grave injury, death, or worse: escape. That was a scenario he had no desire to see played out.

Agent Clay looked up as the door opened and a pair of agents entered, each holding the arm of a girl who didn't look any older than twenty. She was a pretty thing with a deceptively innocent appearance. Professor Bruttenholm's gaze lingered on the metal cuffs encircling her wrists, observing that they were tightly secured and the proper runes had been inscribed upon the metal. Even with all her arcane knowledge, he knew she wouldn't be able to read the incantations and free herself. But even with her magic all but cut off, she was still quite dangerous, someone not to be underestimated.

The guards led the girl to the empty chair across from Clay and sat her down before attaching her cuffs to the chains underneath the table. She didn't say a word, only watched as they tested the chains. When they left, one looked back to give her a warning. "Don't try anything, Slade."

The girl's lips twitched upward into a smirk before her expression went blank. The agents closed the door behind them, leaving her alone with Clay. He didn't look up from the folder in his hands when he spoke to her. "So, you're the infamous Anabelle Slade."

"You know my name. Am I supposed to be impressed?" Her voice had a haunting, silvery edge to it.

Clay appeared to ignore her question as he set the open folder on the table. In it was dozens of reports and photographs, all neatly clipped together and arranged in chronological order. The folder was placed deliberately in her line of sight, yet Anabelle's gaze never left Clay's face. "You've made quite a name for yourself over the last eight decades. Theft, breaking and entering, kidnapping, assault with both magic and physical objects, and every degree of murder possible." He interlocked his fingers and placed his hands on the table. "What's impressive is that you were never caught. Until now, that is."

Anabelle scoffed quietly and leaned forward, mimicking his stance and making the chains rattle in the process. "You don't exactly play fair."

"You dug your own grave, Slade." Clay pulled out four photos and placed them in front of Anabelle, one by one, in a single line. They were crime scene photos, depicting the bloody murder of an entire family – two adults, a teenager, and a child. Anabelle looked at the photos, but didn't show any sort of response, verbal or nonverbal. "But why," Clay continued when she didn't say anything, "did the Ashtons have to die?"

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "Like I said dozens of times already, _I_ didn't do this," she replied in a calm, even tone.

"Then explain why we found you there, why the DNA evidence puts you in that house."

"Oh, that's simple. I've been set up. Quite elaborately too. So which one was it? Who turned me over to you?"

"That's not import–"

"It wasn't the brother. No, they wouldn't be able to pull this off. And I know damn well that Macha would _never_ betray me." Her eyes lit up with recognition. "Ah, so it was Remus! I knew taking in that sniveling little coward was a mistake. I didn't think he'd have the backbone to kill an entire family for the sake of getting me locked up though."

"The warlock just told us what you were planning. He didn't–"

"He's not even a full-fledged warlock. He's an _apprentice_. And who else could have killed those people? It wasn't me."

"The evidence–"

"Is fabricated, Agent Clay," Anabelle stated, finishing his sentence before he could get another word out. "No doubt through magical means. I was only there because that was where Remus told me to meet him. I was just as surprised as you to find those people like that. Horrible. Simply horrible."

"Horrible? So you feel remorse?" Clay asked.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped. "You can't feel remorse over something you didn't do, and I _did not_ kill that family. Believe me, I would tell you all about it if I did, but even I would never stoop so low as to cut out the throat of an innocent child."

"You practice black magic, Slade. Your spells and rituals require blood, flesh, and other unmentionable ingredients."

"Clearly you didn't thoroughly read my file, agent. There are some secrets and practices that are best left buried and hidden, even from beings such as myself."

"You've killed hundreds of people, and you don't seem to show any preference when it comes to your victims."

"But I've never intentionally killed a _child_. That is a crime that ought to have a punishment worse than death in my opinion." A small smile touched her lips, her demeanor quickly changing. "As for the number of people I've killed, I'm sure that number is much higher. I have to feed the Heart after all."

Clay clenched his jaw at her brazen confession. "Is murder just a game to you?"

"A game? Sometimes. A little bit of cat-and-mouse keeps one on their toes and helps hone the senses." She tilted her head to the side. "I don't really like your tone, Agent Clay. There's no need to be so antagonistic." Anabelle took her hands off the table and leaned back in her chair, looking at the door, then at the one-way mirror. "Take me back to my cell. I don't feel like talking to you anymore."

Clay attempted to bring her attention back to the reports in the folder, but Anabelle refused to meet his eyes or open her mouth. No matter how forcibly or gently the questions were asked, she didn't answer or even respond. She just ignored him, her gaze drifting over the room, never really settling on one place for more than a moment.

Professor Bruttenholm could see that this was going nowhere. Clay had made a most accurate observation: this was all a game to her. After looking closely at the information the Bureau had already gathered about her, Professor Bruttenholm learned that this particular witch took great joy in toying with others, playing with them psychologically and emotionally. Deprive her of her fun and Anabelle would shut down, just as she was doing now. Bombarding her with questions wasn't going to prove effective; information had to be coaxed out of her by playing her games.

When Clay finally gave up, the two agents returned to escort Anabelle back to her cell. Professor Bruttenholm watched her leave, releasing a quiet sigh. He knew it wasn't impossible to get through to her, but it would take a bit of patience.

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**There will be a few of these flashbacks throughout the story. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense – Trenton, New Jersey – September 27th, 2008 – 06:46 hrs.**

Anabelle followed the trail of dead guards and agents all the way to the entrance of the BPRD's headquarters. There were only corpses at the front entrance to greet her, letting the witch blast the gates open with a wave of kinetic energy. An alarm blared somewhere in the building, but she only glanced back before leaving the grounds and entering the nearby forest. She released the breath she had been holding, gripping her arm as the pain bit at her nerve endings. She had been burned before, but those injuries were nothing compared to this. This mark had been made with magic, and the wound was not just flesh deep; it seared her very soul as well. By swearing that oath to the prince, she had allowed herself to be… branded – like a prize horse or common livestock.

The witch paused to lean against a tree and catch her breath. As happy as she was to be out of that cage and to feel her magic coursing through her veins once again, she was painfully aware that this freedom was only finite. She had a master now, and she would have to serve him faithfully. If she didn't, she risked death… or worse. Prince Nuada was thousands of years old. She didn't want to imagine the sort of creative torture techniques he learned during his long years of life and war.

She let out a frustrated growl, lightly bumping her head against the tree's trunk and ignoring the bite of the rough bark. "Damn it…" She had gotten her freedom back, but in exchange she had to swear it away again. It was probably one of the worst deals she had ever made. The elf clearly got the better part of the bargain. There was no point in denying that. So now she was a slave, doomed to live in servitude for the rest of her life. Elves were practically immortal by human standards. Even with the Heart of Endor, the Demon Heart, bound to her and increasing her lifespan, there was a strong possibility her master would outlive her.

_You should have just kept your mouth shut, Anabelle. You were better off in that cell anyway._

But had she _really_ been better off?

For four years the BPRD had kept her in captivity. Four years with her magic all but gone. Four years of being gawked at by both security guards and curious agents. Four years she had gone without feeding the Heart. The Heart's near constant nagging was the hardest to live with. Most people were unaware that the crystal was… alive, in a sense. It communicated with her in a way she couldn't explain to others even if she wanted to. And when it hungered, it made sure she knew. The daily pain in her chest was its reminder, and there had been nothing she could do about it while she was imprisoned. All she could do was swallow the pain and try to think of something else.

Even now she could feel the pain, as if someone were jabbing her in the heart with something pointed and sharp. It was muted now, though. Somehow she felt the Heart must have known they were free and was simply waiting to be fed. Anabelle silently promised herself that she would take the first opportunity presented to her as she pushed herself away from the tree and continued onward.

The forest was still shrouded in darkness. Anabelle had not been able to easily keep track of time while in her cell, but she guessed from the position of the moon that it was the early morning hours, well past midnight. She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering slightly. She was unable to change her clothes after escaping and only wore the short-sleeved shirt and loose pants provided for her when she was first imprisoned. They hadn't given her shoes, forcing her to put up with being barefoot. With the combination of the darkness, the cold, and the aching pain in both her chest and her arm, Anabelle was miserable.

The trees came to an end as she stepped onto the black asphalt of a lonely back road. Anabelle was just about to start walking again when a pair of headlights cut through the dark and the rumble of a car engine broke the silence. She looked up as a Honda Accord approached and was mildly surprised when the vehicle slowed and pulled to the side of the road near her. She stood still and watched as the driver's side door opened and a woman got out. In the mixture of moonlight and headlights, Anabelle could see that she was middle-aged with short dark hair, wearing a brown jacket over a white sweater.

The woman's gaze traveled over Anabelle's face and thin frame. "Are you alright?" she asked in a genuinely concerned tone. "Do you want me to call 911?"

This particular individual had a gentle aura, one that a being such as Anabelle could easily take advantage of. Anabelle let herself relax a bit. She didn't say a word, only stared. She _could_ just kill this woman, suck out her soul, and be done with it. But what then? She would be stuck out in the cold with a corpse and a car. There was no sense in such rash action when there were more fruitful alternatives available.

"My god," the woman was saying as Anabelle approached her. "What happened to you, honey?"

Anabelle lifted one hand, her fingertips lightly brushing against the woman's face as a soft green glow manifested in her open palm. The woman fell silent and her worried expression dissolved into a blank stare. Her gaze fixed on the glow in Anabelle's hand and didn't waver. Anabelle felt her lips curve into a smirk as the light caught in her own blue eyes, giving them a rather wicked gleam. "Take me to your home," the witch said in a slow, almost seductive voice. "I require food and bathing."

She lowered her hand. The woman's eyes appeared to glow green for a moment before the light faded from Anabelle's hand. Her expression remained blank as she turned and got back into her car. Anabelle opened the passenger-side door and slid into the seat, watching her new toy wordlessly put the car in drive and pull back onto the road. She settled into the seat, pleased that she had the strength to cast a simple hypnosis spell. After having her magic cut off for so long, she feared that she had potentially lost her touch. The frost spell she cast back in the prisons had been the result of instinct and luck.

Anabelle leaned back in the seat, partially curling her body into a ball. Even a car seat was much more comfortable than the cot she slept on for the past four years. She tried to remember the last time she slept soundly or even had a dream, but she struggled. The moment she shut her eyes, she realized just how tired she really was and happily let sleep take her as the car continued down the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**Brooklyn, New York – 08:10 hrs.**

"Milady, we've arrived."

The monotone voice of the hypnotized woman pulled Anabelle from her dreamless sleep. The witch looked out the windshield and saw that they were in the city, parked in front of a large apartment building. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before opening the car door and stepping out, wincing quietly as the cold morning air struck her skin. The woman turned the car off and locked it, then started toward the building. Anabelle followed close behind, murmuring a cloaking spell that would shield her from the security cameras. Not many of the other building residents were up quite yet, leaving the halls eerily empty. Anabelle preferred it that way.

The woman took her to the third floor and entered an apartment at the end of the hall. It was a comfortable-looking place, heated and fully furnished. A plug-in air freshener gave the apartment a pleasant, clean scent. Though there were no pets to be found, the decoration choices in the apartment made it painfully obvious that its resident was a single woman with a soft spot for cats. Anabelle absently picked up a small statuette of a kitten and looked it over. "Charming."

Anabelle sat the woman down on the couch in the sitting area and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Stay here and await further orders."

The woman nodded dumbly without looking at her. "Yes, milady."

Anabelle patted her shoulder before going to the bathroom and turning the shower on. She stayed in the shower for quite a while. Long showers were a luxury she had been denied while in BPRD custody, and she intended to make the most of this one. It felt so nice to thoroughly clean her body and wash her hair, and the cold was swept from her body in the process of showering. Bathing had not been an enjoyable experience in the prisons, not for Anabelle at least. It was an interspecies prison after all, and being human (more or less) didn't earn one very many friends in that kind of environment, especially the prison was run by humans. None of the other female inmates dared approach her after she killed the first fool who threatened her, but they continued to lash out at her with venomous words and statements.

Anabelle disposed of her old clothes after she finished her shower and went into the bedroom to pick out a new outfit for herself from the closet there. She was able to find a red blouse and a pair of jeans that fit her, as well as brown, heeled boots. As she was changing, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at her had almond-shaped blue eyes and long blond hair that trailed past her shoulders. She noted the way her ribs and spine poked out against her pale skin; it wasn't bad enough to make her look starving and emaciated, but it wasn't exactly flattering. She ran a hand over her (thankfully) still full chest, her fingers tracing the scar over her heart. Unpleasant memories began to drift into her mind, and she quickly forced them back.

Her gaze fell on the brand. The image burned onto her skin was the mark of the Bethmoora clan, specifically the royal seal – a depiction of Aiglin the Father Tree enclosed in a perfect circle. She gingerly touched the scorched flesh with her fingertips. It didn't hurt nearly as horribly now, but she could still feel the distinct sting of magic. Her own words echoed in the corridors of her mind, repeating the oath she swore, the oath behind the brand.

_ I swear that to Prince Nuada, son of King Balor and heir to the throne of Elfland, I will be true, faithful, and loyal. I will love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, according to the laws of the gods and the order of the earth. Never will I, be it with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him. My life I will gladly lay down for his without hesitation or question. This oath I swear to uphold until either my master releases me or death claims me._

Traditionally this particular oath would have been sworn by both parties, and they would have received each other's marks as a result. Anabelle knew that Nuada had absolutely no interest in taking the oath himself. Why would he want to now that he had made her his new servant?

Anabelle had just entered the kitchen and found the pantry when she felt a shift in the atmosphere that made her stop dead in her tracks. A chill crawled up her spine as she became aware of another presence in the apartment, someone other than herself and her puppet out in the sitting area. She released a shaky breath and took a slow step backward… and ran right into a solid form behind her. Even through the thin material of his shirt, she could feel the muscled torso of a man. She didn't bother turning around. She knew who it was without even looking.

One moment she was standing in front of the pantry, the next she was shoved up against the wall and pinned there with one arm twisted behind her. Anabelle could only yelp in surprise and press her free arm against the wall. Her captor held her in a vice-like grip, discouraging any escape attempts. "It's nice to see you again too, your Highness," she muttered.

"Did you really think you could hide from me?" Nuada hissed. He was close enough for her to feel his hot breath on the back of her neck.

"Hide?" Anabelle asked coyly. "From you? Is that what you thought I was doing? I would never dream of it. I was just…"

"Silence!"

She immediately shut her mouth.

"You are not free, witch," the prince stated with the commanding tone befitting a royal such as himself. "You belong to me." The brand on her arm began to burn at his words as if renewing itself, forcing a quiet whine from Anabelle. "I let you out of your cage for one reason and one reason alone – to make use of your magic. You are nothing but a tool."

Anabelle glanced behind her, but was unable to meet his eyes. "You're actually not the first to say that to me, prince," she grumbled quietly. "And you're not the first to bend me to their will. I've been through this kind of thing before."

"Mind your tone," Nuada warned. "I have need of you, and you will follow my orders without question. Do you understand?"

Anabelle nodded. "Yes."

"Yes, _what?_"

"Yes, my lord."

"Much better. Now, I'm going to release your arm." His grip on her tightened painfully as he leaned toward her ear. "Make any attempt to run and I won't hesitate to break it."

Anabelle muttered under her breath, but nodded once again.

Nuada let go of her arm, and she took a moment to massage the sore limb before turning around to face him. The elf was looking down at her, his eyes glowing dimly in the low light. He wore the same black clothing and red sash (set with a gold royal seal) she saw him in back in the prisons. Her gaze fell on the spear he wielded and the sword at his side before she brazenly met his eyes. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to fall to my knees and mewl at your feet like a love-struck little girl?" she asked wryly.

She saw the fire burning in his eyes too late, and she almost regretted the sarcastic question when he raised a hand. Anabelle automatically flinched away, fully expecting him to strike her, but the blow never came. Her reaction seemed to satisfy him, judging from the smirk he gave her. "You've quite the tongue on you, witch."

Anabelle sighed quietly and let her shoulders rise and fall. "Got it from my mother. And my name isn't 'witch.' It's Anabelle… my lord."

Nuada appeared to ignore her comment as he left the kitchen and moved into the sitting area. Anabelle joined him just as he was examining the woman on the couch. He slowly waved a hand in front of her face, but she continued to stare straight ahead. "Hypnosis," he stated, looking over at Anabelle. "Impressive, considering your magic has been cut off for such a long period of time. I assume you planned on using this human to feed the Demon Heart."

Anabelle nodded. "It was on my list of things to do, but then you dropped in."

The elf just stared at her for a moment. He stepped away from the couch and gestured to the woman. "Don't let my presence hinder you. By all means, continue."

Now it was Anabelle's turn to stare. Was he serious? Did he really want to watch her suck out this woman's soul? She was unable to read his face or his eyes, frustrating her greatly. She was used to gauging people's reactions and expressions in order to gain valuable information about their thoughts and behaviors, but Prince Nuada had clearly spent time perfecting that poker face of his.

When she didn't move or reply, Nuada crossed his arms over his chest and his smirk faded as quickly as it had appeared. "That was an order," he said, raising his voice slightly. "Show me this power of yours. Now."

Anabelle started slightly and approached the couch without further hesitation. She looked at Nuada first, then turned her eyes to the woman as she knelt in front of her. She took hold of her jaw in one hand, making the woman open her mouth. Anabelle could feel Nuada's eyes on her as she leaned forward, as if she were going to kiss her, and stopped a few inches away. A steady stream of pale light emerged from the woman's mouth, flowing right into Anabelle's waiting mouth as the witch parted her lips. The hypnosis spell wore off at the same time, and the woman was able to register what was happening and struggle weakly before Anabelle finished drawing out the rest of her soul. Anabelle closed her mouth and leaned back. She released the woman's jaw and watched as she collapsed on the couch, her lifeless eyes staring off into the distance.

Anabelle felt the Heart hum as it absorbed the soul, and the next hum that reverberated off her ribcage let her know that the crystal was satisfied… for the moment, at least. She released a quiet sigh of relief as the pain in her chest ceased. It would take more souls to fully restore the Heart's power, but she didn't intend to rush the process.

Nuada's small smile had returned when she looked back at him. "So you are who you claim to be," he commented.

She lightly ran her fingertips over her lips before meeting his eyes. "Did you take me for a liar?"

"You can never be too careful when dealing with humans."

"I'm barely human. Perhaps I was at one time, but not anymore."

"Clearly. I have heard of the Demon Heart and its ability to give such power to its host. Never have I witnessed it for myself."

"And does this new, firsthand knowledge please you?"

"It does."

Nuada offered her his hand, and Anabelle took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Perhaps he would treat her with a little more respect now that he had seen what she could do. She hoped that was the case, but she wouldn't bet her life on it.

The elf prince started toward the door, gesturing for her to follow. "Come, Anabelle. Our time in this city is coming to an end."

Anabelle blinked, but smiled softly and nodded when he referred to her by name. "Yes, my lord."


End file.
